Juxtaposition
by PryzmKess
Summary: An AU looking at what a night in the Hyperion is like when lives are juxtaposed.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I do not own Angel; this is solely for my pleasure, not my profit. AU, set roughly in late Season 1 or Season 2; Season 1 spoilers.

_**Juxtaposition**_

_Juxtaposition - __**jux·ta·po·si·tion**__  
Pronunciation: __"jahk-sta-po-'zi-shun__  
Function: noun  
Etymology: Latin juxta near + English position  
Date: 1654  
__the act or an instance of placing two or more things side by side; also__ the state of being so placed_

Sometimes this life feels wrong, like my story isn't mine. Perhaps that has to do with the unreality of my situation; when you compare my life to the world, my life seems fantastic and false.

Light invades my dark sanctuary with a blinding light, reminding me of what I try to forget by sitting in the dark. The shadow that falls through the open door is familiar, one of the few things I don't long to forget.

But he reminds me of the other things, and my heart hurts with a dull thud.

"Cordy?" Angel calls out, and I sigh at the sound of my name on his lips. I love him, and have done so for a long time now. I remember that it started not long after Dyane died. We were mutually broken by our loss, and I remember clinging to his presence so that I wouldn't feel Dyane's lack of presence anymore.

"Yes?" I answer, keeping the resignation out of my voice. I just want to sit in the dark and wait for the next monster to stop or the next person to help. I don't want Angel coming into my room and chasing my comforting darkness away with his light, laughter and life.

"I was just wondering if you were in the dark brooding again," Angel said lightly as he snapped on the light to my room. The light coming on hurts my eyes with the sudden flash of brightness, but I don't blink. I don't blink for all those who I have hurt, and my small pain chips away at my redemption-price.

"I wasn't brooding," I say, aware that my comment sounds childish and immature. We both know that I was, so that I could forget everything that has passed – my sire, my childer, my lost love.

"Right," Angel says with a knowing smile. He walks over to me and drops onto the couch next to me. After a moment of silence, he asks, "So what is the topic tonight, Ms. Broody? Elijah? Damien? Or some dark memory of what you have done?"

I wince at the melodramatic tone in his voice. I know that it's intentional, designed to make me realize how silly I'm being. But I'm not being silly. I can see them every time I close my eyes; a long line of victims, most of them people who thought me friend or lover, stretching back though two hundred years of blood, pain and fear.

"I told you I'm not brooding, Liam," I retort, and then want to take those words back. He knows that I only call him by his given name when I'm angry with him, or trying to distract him. I can only hope he doesn't notice.

He notices. His eyes narrow at the mention of his hated 'normal' name, as he calls it. He prefers Angel out of a vain desire to promote his 'angelic face' to movie producers. I wonder when he's going to realize that he can't act unless it a life or death issue.

"Cordelia," he says, and I know that he's serious now too. He only calls me that to make a point. "I know you're brooding, and you know you're brooding, so why not stop brooding and have some fun? We could go out, to a club and have a good night. Or we could go to my apartment to watch movies. Please, for my sanity?"

He has me. For someone who doesn't know he can twist me around his little finger, he is effective at doing it. I sigh and pull myself to my feet, reaching for my coat as I wonder once again why I put up with him and his attempts to humanize me. Angel's face breaks into a satisfied smile and I know why; I love to see him smile.

Damn it, he did it again. The darkness inside is fading before his smile. I give up and let it happen, let him steal my darkness one more time. He's getting too damn good at this.

He gasps suddenly, his hand flying to his head. I see his knees give out, but I'm there, catching him easily in my arms. I pull him against my chest, knowing that he needs my cold support right now.

"Girl in a warehouse… she's homeless, I think," Angel grinds out through his pain. "A big, ugly demon thingie is attacking her. Off Watson Street." He collapses suddenly, the tension in his body gone.

I set him down on the floor, cradling his head gently in my lap. "They're getting worse, aren't they?" I ask, fear clenching my heart.

"Nothing I can't handle," he gasps out, holding his head with both hands. "The girl needs you, you should go."

"Are you going to be okay here until I get back?" I ask.

He's a touch surprised by the question; normally I don't delay helping someone like this. "Yeah, I'll be great as soon as you kill the demon," he mutters.

I nod and carefully slide my legs out from under his head and carefully pick him up. "Where are you taking me?" he gasps softly.

"To rest," I answer tenderly, aware that I'm wearing my heart on my sleeve at this moment, but hoping he's too out of it to notice. I carry him into my bedroom and lay him down on the bed. I ignore the weak part of myself that wants to crawl in next to him and drink in his warmth. "I'll be back as soon as we're done killing it, ok?"

He nods weakly and throws an arm over his eyes, resting finally, or at least pretending to for me. I want to kiss his forehead, but I can't bring myself to do so; in part because I'm worried that would upset him and in part because I'm afraid that I couldn't stop if I start.

I leave the room and shut the door partway, leaving him enough light to see, but not enough to hurt his eyes when he opens them. I've become a great judge of light and dark.

Wendy's head comes up when I fly down the stairs to my weapons compartment. "Is something wrong?" she asks in that tightly clipped accent that reminds me so strongly of Willamina. I shake off the memory of my grandchilde and snatch up a crossbow.

"Angel had a vision," I answer abruptly, and Wendy grabs the phone.

"Where should I have Gunn meet us?" she asks as she dials.

"Warehouse on Watson Street. Tell her to follow the screams," I answer and run to get the car pulled around front. When I get there, Wendy is waiting with her ax and another crossbow.

The drive is longer than I want it to be. Part of me is counting down the minutes we have left to save the girl, and the other part is counting the minutes until I can relieve Angel's suffering. He's so young and alive; he doesn't deserve to suffer like this.

We park in front of the warehouse. Wendy grabs my arm and points; I look up to see a girl crawling in through a window. "We have a couple of moments," Wendy observes as she pulls her long dark hair into a quick bun.

"Then lets get ahead of the game," I state.


	2. Chapter 2

"Then lets get ahead of the game," I state to her as I jump out of the car and run toward the door. The door is metal and looks solid, but even solid doors can't stand up to a vampire kicking them in.

Claws and fangs jump toward me out of the darkness of the room, and I embrace them, eager to keep them away from my more delicate companions. I know that of all of them, Alana can take a pounding, but not even she could handle this.

The demon has three arms, and it knocks me out the warehouse door. I tumble to the ground, but kick myself upright as it comes toward me. I see Wendy sneak into the warehouse behind us to find the girl, but I don't draw any attention to her. Instead, I kick the demon in one of its knees, collapsing it to the ground, and then I drive my elbow into its back.

The creature howls and throws its arm out as it pushes itself upright. The arm catches me in the stomach, not really hurting, but it does knock me back into the street. I land on my knees and an elbow with a car racing toward me. I don't think; I just roll forward, trying to get away from the vehicle. I'm mostly successful; I feel the car strike my trailing foot.

I jump to my feet, looking for the demon. My foot is broken; I can feel the bones grating painfully with each step, but I ignore the feeling. It'll heal just fine regardless. I don't see the demon, but I do see Alana duck into the warehouse.

"Cordy," Alana yells as she disappears into the darkness, "it went in here!"

I race into the warehouse, desperate to find the demon before my friends do. I pause next to Alana just inside the door, and we listen for the demon together. Wendy's sudden shout from the right spurs us that direction.

I come around a corner and see the girl, Wendy and the demon all in the little twenty-foot square made by the boxes. Alana, just behind me, stops before she can barrel into my back. I hear the snap of her crossbow being cocked.

Wendy is dancing in front of the girl, her speed and fighting skill being used to keep the demon away from them both. I jump onto its back in a single bound, trying to throw it off with my weight. I hear Alana growl with anger and drop the crossbow, but the creature reaching over its head and driving its claws into my shoulders distracts me.

I wince with the pain even as I welcome it, and I grab the creature's hands, trapping it against my shoulders. I have tied up two of its hands, and Wendy changes her tactics accordingly, becoming more aggressive and less defensive. The creature pulls me over its head and slams me into the floor; I hold onto the hands though.

Wendy smashes her axe into the creature's head as Alana's sword protrudes from its chest, having been driven in to the hilt in its back. The demon throws its head back, howling.

And then it explodes. In seconds, we're all covered in demon guts, blood and worse viscous fluids. The girl we were saving faints with the suddenness of someone who has seen too much.

"Damn it!" Alana howls and flings her hands around, trying to get them clean. "I hate it when they explode."

"Indeed," Wendy states dryly, removing her glasses to clean them, only to find that she didn't have any spots on her clean enough to accomplish the tasks. With a sigh, she scrapes the lenses as clean as she can and sets them back on her face. "Well, that was certainly fun."

I pull myself to my feet, just happy to be here, though that feeling is slowly fading into emptiness again, because fighting reminds me of Elijah. I wonder how he's doing, but to my surprise, my thoughts on the matter are fairly impersonal. Not to say that I don't love Elijah anymore; I do. I can't imagine my life without him. Ever since I had seen him called by his first Watcher, I have loved him, and I will always love him. But some part of me has accepted that we will not be again.

Anyway, last I had heard, he was in a happy relationship with a nice college girl, Reanne. I hope he's happy with his new life. I know I'm trying to make mine bearable.

We wake up the girl and get her home. All of this takes far longer than I want it to; I want to get home and make sure that Angel is alright. Wendy notes my impatience with a raised eyebrow, but my young friend knows me well enough to know not to ask.

At the hotel, I bound up the stairs to my room, and throw open the door. Angel is sitting on the edge of the bed, his head lowered; he appears to be holding onto the bed tightly.

"Angel?" I ask, and he lifts his head. I smile at him and ask, "Are you feeling better?"

"You killed it, right?" he asks, his voice weary.

"Yes, and saved the girl," I answer him with a nod.

"Great," he says and his face lights up with a grin, "cause tonight is Wednesday."

I frown for a second before remembering the significance. "Mandarin night," I acknowledge with a nod, and Angel jumps to his feet and thrusts his fist in the air as a victory gesture.

"Mandarin night!" he shouts and rushes down the stairs, all trace of his headache seemingly gone. But I can smell his pain, and know the truth. I acknowledge my helplessness in regards to Angel's visions with a sad sigh and head into the showers.

Downstairs proof that my friends have remembered Mandarin night is evident in a slime-covered pen and a notepad with Cashew Chicken and General Tso's Chicken written on it. Angel has already put in the order, and soon, a freshly cleaned Alana and Wendy join us.

As they wait for their food, I consider my friends. I know that I would be lost without them, and I'm content to bask in their presence for the moment, to feel them close to me. But even in this small happiness, my mind turns to dark thoughts.

Alana's laugh is happy, but I wonder if she thinks of her younger brother Charles often, and her laughter seems more stressed than the moment before. Wendy, rogue demon hunter as she sometimes calls herself, smiles and relaxes in seeming contentment, but I can't help by feel she would be happier back in England in the Watcher's Council.

And Angel, my sweet Angel. I watch him chuckle about the exploding demon, and I wonder if he's really happy here with me—with us. How can he be with the pain and the visions? I wish that Dyane had given them to me; I know that I could have handled them.

The food arrives, and my human friends dig into their meal. Alana grabs a two-liter of Coke and I get a mug of blood, and they make me toast the victory. And victory it is, I concede as I lean against the front counter, watching my friends celebrate another victory, another day of living for them. For me, it another day without another hole in my heart, and that makes me happier than anything else I can think of.

The darkness is always there, but my friends always drive it away, and I am happy. Happier than I deserve, but I'll take it.


End file.
